by Ava Benton
“Look at me.” His voice was deep, sonorous, and undeniable.
I didn’t have a choice but to do as he commanded.
His eyes were the same green, ringed in red. “You’re ashamed to ask, aren’t you?”
“Not ashamed. Just… unpracticed. This isn’t a responsibility I was prepared to take on.”
He nodded slowly. “It was unfair for your mother to put this on your shoulders. I’m sorry for you. But yes, I do need to feed. I need to be strong when we face our foe. And we will. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whispered with a sinking heart.
We could play house all we wanted. We could cuddle up by the fire and pretend nothing else existed but the two of us. We would only be fooling ourselves and making it easier for a threat to take advantage.
“I have to protect you. That’s all that matters. It’s why I exist.” His fingertips grazed my cheek, my jaw, my throat. They lingered there.
I felt my pulse racing beneath them.
So did he. His eyes started to change as the overwhelming need for blood began taking over. His breathing changed, too, becoming rapid and shallow.
“Take what you need,” I whispered, tilting my head to the side.
I wanted to give myself to him, to know part of me was keeping him alive. It made no sense. It made all the sense in the world. I was there for him, and he was there for me.
We needed each other. And my blood would help him do what he had to do. It was almost beautiful.
He drew closer. His hot breath sent a shiver through me as his lips grazed my skin.
“So sweet,” he whispered, his tongue darting over the spot where my pulse throbbed.
I gripped his shoulders, eyes closed, holding my breath for the moment when his fangs pierced my skin. And when they did, the pain made me cry out and grip him tighter.
He cradled me at first, arms around my waist, holding our bodies close together while his mouth latched onto my throat.
Pain faded, replaced with a sense of being drained. One of his hands curled around the back of my throat and held me in place as he sucked the life out of me, breathing hard and fast and grunting like an animal. I gave myself up, abandoned myself to him to use as he wanted.
I knew, deep in my heart without having to think about it, that he wouldn’t go too far. I floated away, knowing I could trust him even as I felt my body growing weak and he crushed me against him.
“Enough!” he grunted, pulling away with a wrenching groan, panting heavily.
My eyes opened slowly.
He had lowered me to the floor as he fed.
I stared up at the ceiling, trying to regain a sense of myself. I had floated so far away…
“Are you… all right?” His face came into focus as he hovered over me.
I tried to smile as I nodded, but I was too tired. Was that how it always was? I opened my mouth to ask, but he anticipated my question.
“Your mother rationed the blood she gave me. I never felt like there was enough. Now, I understand why. She had to keep her supply up. No wonder she wanted to visit you as soon as you got back. She needed more.”
I remembered how I felt when I was so sick. Yes, it was the same. The total exhaustion.
“I wouldn’t have taken so much if I wasn’t so hungry,” he explained, and deep frown lines creased his forehead. “I’m sorry. I went too far.”
“It’s all right. I want you to have what you need. You have a job to do, right?” My smile was stronger that time, and it seemed to comfort him a little.
He stretched out on one side and drew me to him, and I let myself feel small and vulnerable against his larger, stronger body as he held me. “I understand now why the blood lust kept coming up on me so suddenly. It all makes so much sense. I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”
“None of it matters now.” All that mattered was that I get a little sleep. I could barely speak, I was so tired.
11
Monika
My eyes flew open when I recognized the sound of a motor. My head was on Konstantin’s chest. I sat up—just about all of my muscles cried out in protest after spending so many hours on a wood floor. “What’s that?”
He disentangled us and sprang to his feet, crouching low as he approached the window. He was poised to spring, even without clothes on. I could’ve kicked myself for leaving us both so vulnerable, lying around naked in front of the fire for an entire day.
He muttered a curse. “It’s your mother.”
“Oh, no.” I grabbed my clothes and flew upstairs while he performed his speed demon act downstairs.
I heard furniture moving back into place as I jammed my legs into clean pants and pulled a thick turtleneck sweater over my head.
My hair was mussed—the way it would be after good sex—and I did my best to smooth it down before giving up and clipping it in a bun on the back of my head.
All the while, I asked myself what she was doing there. What the hell was she doing there?
“Does she want to attract attention?” I muttered through my teeth as I shoved my feet into faux fur boots.
She was at the door. I heard her knock. The fact that she bothered to knock would’ve made me laugh if my heart wasn’t busy knocking against my ribs much louder.
I hurried to the top of the stairs and heard her questions. “Is it comfortable enough? Do you have everything you need?”
“She’ll need more food.”
“I brought some of her favorites.”
I forced a smile as I walked down the stairs. Smothering me as always. Did she even know my favorites anymore? We hadn’t lived together in half a lifetime.
I found her putting food in the cupboards—she wrinkled her nose when she saw how dusty they were, but a flick of her wrist took care of that.
One of the first sets of spells a witch learned when she began honing her powers, basic household tasks.
“Ah, there you are.” Her smile faltered when she looked at me over her shoulder.
She saw something wrong with me. I should’ve known she would. What had I missed?
I touched my hair, self-conscious, and the tiny wound on my throat seemed to tingle beneath the thick, heavy wool.
Like she knew it was there. What did she expect? She was the one who forced us into our mess. He had to feed, and it had to be from me.
“Why did you take a chance like this?” I asked, eyes shifting toward the window. Her car was out there. “Don’t you think this is bit over-obvious if anyone is watching?”
“I couldn’t transport myself here with all these groceries. Besides, I doubt anybody would watch you.”
“What if they’re watching you?” Konstantin leaned against the closed door, arms folded. “One of them could’ve followed you here.”
“One of whom?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do you even know who we’re dealing with?”
My heart skipped a beat. “Do you? I know what you sound like when you think you’re the smartest person in the room.”
“So do I,” Konstantin agreed.
She shrugged it off. One thing about my mother: she was fine with admitting how full of herself she could be sometimes. “I did something I never thought I would do.”
What, steal my blood? Lie to me and your Nightwarden? Make me think I was dying and not tell me otherwise?
“What did you do this time?” I sighed.
“I spoke with my sister.”
“You what?”
“I asked Cressida for her help. I explained what was happening and that I needed information on any known sorcerers still in Europe. All of the ancient texts are in the possession of her coven. She always was selfish that way. I’ll never forget the time—”
“They found something?” Konstantin prompted.
I had to bite the side of my tongue to keep from laughing at his obvious redirection.
“Yes. An ancient sorcerer named Ivan. From all accounts, he was alive at the time of the Siege of Belgrade�
��where that sword was originally used.”
“I don’t understand. I didn’t think sorcerers could live that long.”
She shrugged. “There are many ways a magical being can prolong their life. Many of which I don’t like to consider. Terribly dark magic. Brutal.”
“Where does he live now?” I asked.
“From all accounts, Serbia. Somewhere in the mountains. Some intrepid thief must have taken their life in their hands to steal that sword. I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes when Ivan found out.”
I shivered. No. Neither would I. The sound of that awful, bone-chilling voice, coming from my mother’s mouth. I didn’t want to meet the sorcerer that voice belonged to.
Her skirt swept across the room as she took tour. It didn’t take long, the room being so small. “I remember this place well. I spent so many happy times here.”
“Funny, you never mentioning that it existed.”
Her smile faltered. “Yes, well, some places have a way of connecting themselves to unhappy situations, too.”
And that was when I knew it had something to do with my father, who we never spoke about in more than passing. One of the few hard-and-fast rules she held in place. No wonder she hadn’t been back in so long.
Konstantin was about to say something when he went still, head cocked to the side.
When my mother made a move toward him, he cut his eyes in her direction. Something in them froze her in place. I was afraid to breathe.
“Something’s here,” he whispered so faintly, I could hardly hear him.
I wasn’t sure how he could know—I didn’t hear anything, and the look on my mother’s face told me she didn’t, either.
But he had a sixth sense. I didn’t understand it, but I knew it was there.
He looked from her to me, and understood.
“Come on,” my mother whispered, pulling my hands. “Let’s go upstairs.”
“What? No. I won’t hide.” I pulled back, away from her, trying to stay with Konstantin.
“Listen to her,” he growled, shoving me a little as he walked past me.
We weren’t lovers anymore, if we ever had been. I was his charge, and he was my Nightwarden, and all that mattered was him doing his job.
“I don’t want to leave you!” But I followed my mother upstairs anyway and into one of the bedrooms.
She closed the door behind us, then waved her hand to move the dresser and bed in front of it.
Not like it would matter. If there was a threat out there, they would easily get past a couple of pieces of furniture.
I turned to her with a snarl. “So, nobody would follow you here, huh?”
12
Konstantin
I tuned my sharp senses to the sounds around me, listening hard. The ever-crashing waves outside faded into the background as I picked up the muffled footsteps. Uneven, slow, unsure. The sound of someone trying to sneak up and being very, very bad at their job.
They were coming from behind the house, where it looked out onto the water.
I stood beside the single window and eased just enough of my head in front of it to see outside.
Everything looked normal. A typical evening in a little shack which had been deserted until twenty-four hours prior. Both cars sat out there, untouched. Or so it seemed.
I focused my gaze on the space beneath the cars and noticed two pairs of feet in dark boots. That was all it took for the fangs to extend, the claws to dig into my palms. I turned into an animal, relying on instinct to decide my next move.
I watched and waited.
Did they know I was standing there? Did they even know I was aware of them? I strained my ears and could just make out their whispers, but I couldn’t pick up anything they were saying. Making a plan, maybe.
Who were they, that they would show up here? Had Ivan come with his forces, or had he sent them in his place?
If they were sorcerers or even warlocks, I had to act before they had the chance to use their magic on me.
Instead of using the back door to confront them, I sped over to the front and opened, then closed it as quietly as possible. There wasn’t a sound, even to my hypersensitive ears. In the blink of an eye, I was behind them, watching them.
The wind barely stirred.
Two men. Big, brutish, but men just the same. Crouched behind the car. Whispering angrily to each other, trying to decide who would take the back and who would take the front.
“Where’s the sword? Just get the sword,” one of them hissed.
“You know what he said. We have to prove they’re dead!”
“Too late,” I snarled, practically on top of them by then.
They hardly had time to look up and react with terror before my claws sliced through the air and then through their throats.
They gurgled and gasped, covering the gaping wounds in a feeble attempt to hold onto their pathetic lives.
I watched, more satisfied by the second, as blood pumped through their fingers and spattered to the ground. I didn’t even want it. The scent and sight meant nothing to me. Not when it came from them.
When it was over, and their bodies were still, I dragged them inside by their collars and dropped them on the floor. Better lighting didn’t make them any more attractive. They looked like two ordinary humans, and they had been speaking English. But they knew about the sword. It was no accident, them showing up when they did.
“Konstantin! Is everything all right?” Monika called down.
“Yes. Stay there.” I had no way of knowing if they were alone, the two thieves. Murderers.
Then, I had a second thought. “Marissa? I need you.”
The sliding of furniture.
A barely-whispered argument.
Monika didn’t want to stay up there—I would’ve appreciated her spirit if it wasn’t so exhausting sometimes.
“Only Marissa,” I snapped.
The door slammed in response.
I sighed.
Marissa swept down the steps and froze in horror when she saw when I had dragged inside. “What? Who?”
“I don’t know who, but they were outside. I… took care of them, as you can see, but it would be better to have a few answers. I should’ve stopped at one,” I reflected.
“You did what you’re supposed to do,” she reasoned, stepped carefully around the bodies.
The blood had already congealed at their throats and was starting to dry on their clothes, soaked into the black jackets and shirts they wore.
“Is there anything you can do?”
“Do?” She was too busy examining them to understand.
“You know. Bring one of them back, if only for a minute.”
Her head snapped up. “Do you realize what you’re asking of me?”
“Do you realize how dangerous it could be, not knowing what we’re up against? They spoke English. They knew about the sword. They were supposed to kill whoever was in this house.”
Her skin went pale.
I nodded, glad that she understood the severity. “I want to know how they ended up here and where Ivan is.”
She hesitated. “It isn’t simple, playing with the laws of life and death.”
“I don’t imagine that it is, but I know how powerful you are. If anyone can do it, you can.”
She grimaced. “This is hardly the time for flattery.” Still, she rolled up her sleeves with a determined expression. “All right. This won’t be easy, but I can bring him back for a minute or two. He’ll speak through me, since he doesn’t have working vocal chords anymore.”
She was right about that. I had shredded both their throats beyond recognition. They looked like raw hamburger.
I watched, transfixed, as she extended her hands over one of the two bodies and closed her eyes, murmuring some ancient language I had never heard.
Just when I thought there was nothing left about witches to surprise me.
Her brow furrowed in concentration and her lips moved rapidly over words an
d phrases, almost like she was singing. She swayed slightly, front to back, side to side, lost in a trance.
The words faded into silence.
I wondered if the spell had worked at all—suddenly, the man’s chest rose as he took a breath.
I had seen so many things in my centuries of life but never that. I forced myself to stay still and calm.
“What does he know?” I whispered, eyes locked on the suddenly animated corpse.
“Hired on the dark web…” Marissa muttered in a voice that sounded nothing like her own. It was raspy, low, with a strong Brooklyn accent. “Guy wanted a sword brought back to him… girl stole it from him… wanted proof she was dead.” A tear rolled down her cheek.
“Where is this mystery person?” I asked.
“Don’t know… someplace not too far… couldn’t do it himself… gave us address to deliver the sword and the proof…”
“Where?” I breathed.
“Manhattan.”
My breath caught. Manhattan? So close? “And this is where the client lives?” I prodded.
She frowned. “Don’t know. Maybe. But it was Manhattan, for sure. He would pay on delivery.”
Yes, I was sure he would pay. I had only hastened their deaths—he would surely have done it himself. I had never met Ivan, but I had a fairly strong impression of him already.
The chest rose and fell, rose and fell—then stopped.
Marissa lowered her arms and opened her eyes, blinking rapidly. I helped her to a chair by the fire.
“Did you see anything else? Feel anything else?” I asked, studying her face.
She shook her head. “It was all so dark and confused. He doesn’t realize he’s dead yet,” she murmured, passing a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry. I know he was terrible for doing what he was about to do, but I don’t think he was exactly skilled at it. He sounded so… desperate and mixed-up. Who wouldn’t be desperate if they were about to do something like he was setting out to do?”
I couldn’t bring myself to feel the same compassion she did. “He’s better off dead. We have to focus on Ivan. Why wouldn’t he come on his own?”
She shook herself. “It does seem strange that he would post an ad online, even in the darkest corners of the internet. I know there are postings like this out there, hundreds or thousands of them. To think one of them involved my daughter.” Our eyes met. “Maybe he’s too weak to do it himself.”